


Shared Solitude

by Heatherlayne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 08:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18007496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heatherlayne/pseuds/Heatherlayne
Summary: Draco and Hermione, both agonizingly lonely in different ways, slowly find friendship in each other during their second 7th year at Hogwarts. Written after the DH (book) release.(I'm archiving this here from friggin' LiveJournal *spits* so I can find it again if I ever want to. From 2008!!!)





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Hermione had never been so pleased to see Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It had been a wonder, certainly, to be taken across the lake her first year. And the place had always seemed home-like to her. But this year, the feeling that burst through chest her as she first set eyes on the castle from her seat in the carriage with Ron, Luna, Ginny, and Neville, was unlike anything she'd ever felt. It was more than coming home; it was like getting her life back. This is where she belonged. Learning and reading and practicing magic. Making potions and doing charms. Yelling herself hoarse at quidditch matches and even feeding varied and sundry beasts in Care of Magical Creatures. Beaming, she stepped down from the thestral-driven carriage and gazed up at the tall front doors.

Many more students could see the thestrals this year, she knew. Many of them had witnessed not only death, but torture and pain and suffering. None of them would be the same, no matter the level of their involvement in the war. But these students here, now, had survived it. And that, Hermione told herself, was the important part. They were back to re-take their last year at Hogwarts, from those who had been seventh-years down to the littlest first-year. And of course there was a new batch of first-years as well. As the newly-appointed Head Girl, she had been informed that there would still be no shortage of space for all the students. So many had died either during the year either because of Death Eater raids or in the final battle at Hogwarts, and others had been sent to school at Beauxbatons or Durmstrang because, despite the fact that the war was over, their parents didn’t want them at Hogwarts any more. 

“Come on,” Ron said, tugging at her hand. She followed her friends up the stairs into the castle, and then to the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. The chatter was there, but it seemed more subdued than previous years. Or maybe there were just fewer students here to talk.

Headmistress MacGonagall stood once everyone was inside, the new first-years lined up against the back wall, fidgeting and looking very small indeed. “Welcome,” she said, her voice magically magnified to echo across the stones and up through the beams supporting the star-studded enchanted ceiling. “Let the Sorting begin!” A professor Hermione didn’t recognize carried the hat and stool to the head of the hall, then read names off alphabetically. Halfway through, she realized the hat had sung no song. Perhaps the fire it had endured last summer had damaged it so it could do little beyond its task of sorting new students.

When all was said and done, Hermione had counted only twenty new students. Seven Gryffindors, five Ravenclaws, six Hufflepuffs, and only two Slytherins. Once the students were settled at their new tables, the headmistress stood once more and cleared her throat, catching the attention of all the students. “To our new students: welcome. To those returning: welcome back. I’m not going to beat around the bush. We have all had a very hard time of it the past several months.” Hermione caught the slight catch in her voice, though she carried on past it. “But things have changed very much for the better,” she went on, “and we are all starting fresh. Your heads of houses will expound upon the ground rules, and if you have any questions, please refer to a prefect, the Head Girl or Boy, your head of house, or a professor. You also all have your student handbooks. Again, I bid you all welcome and wish you a productive school year. Let the feast begin.” As she sat down, food appeared up and down each table. Immediately the somber feeling in the air dissipated as everyone started reaching and grabbing, pouring pumpkin juice from heavy pitchers, yanking bits of meat off whole roast chickens, shoveling piles of mashed potatoes onto their plates. Hermione dug in with the rest of them, feeling the sensation of being home wash over her once more.

“That’s got to be the shortest welcome speech since Dumbledore’s that year when he just said, ‘Tuck in,’” Ron said from across the table.

Hermione merely nodded. Now would be the time for Harry to jump in with a memory of the old Headmaster, or a comment on how excited Hagrid looked up at the head table, but there was only silence. He wasn’t here, and had sworn never to come to Hogwarts again. 

“You’ve got to graduate like the rest of us,” Hermione had told him earlier that summer.

“I can’t go back there,” he said dully, turning away from both her and Ron where they stood in the doorway of the bedroom he had claimed as his own at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. They knew better than to try and get him to find a nicer flat somewhere. It had been Sirius’s old home, and Harry had taken his godfather’s old bedroom. The same pictures and posters were even still on the walls.

“Sure you can, mate,” Ron said. “Everyone loves you, you’re a ruddy hero!”

“That’s why I can’t go back!” he snapped. “No one would ever let me alone. I couldn’t go to classes, couldn’t study, without being interrupted all the time. I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t....” He trailed off, and both his friends knew he was thinking of those short, celebration-filled weeks after Voldemort’s death. He’d caught only a few hours of sleep each night, drunk far too much butterbeer and firewhiskey, and refused to sign far too many photographs of himself. (Where they had come from, no one knew.) After a fortnight of this, he literally had a breakdown, locked himself in Number 12, and wouldn’t see anyone for a week.

“What will you do?” Hermione asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Harry muttered, still staring out the window. It was a long time before Ron dropped her hand and went out through the door. After a moment, Hermione started to follow him, but turned back with her hand on the doorknob.

“We love you, Harry,” she said softly. 

He jerked his head to let her know he had heard her. That was something, at least. Then she left him there, alone.

Neither she nor Ron had seen him since then. He had enough money from his parents’ vault as well as the remainder of Sirius’ to last him for quite a while. It wasn’t as though he would starve, certainly. She just worried about him daily, almost hourly. It wasn’t right for him to lock himself up like this. She knew more than anyone what he had been through, what scenes and words and thoughts haunted his mind both in the daytime and at night. It just didn’t seem right for him to be alone.

Here she was, though, with Ron, Ginny, all the rest of them. Starting, at last, her seventh year at Hogwarts. Her Head Girl badge was pinned on her robe, her hair had been wrestled back into a thick braid. Her shoes shone black beneath the table and she’d even filed her fingernails on the train. She looked every inch like the Hermione Granger everyone knew and had come to expect great things of. Yet despite the food and laughter all around her, despite Ron’s presence across the table, Neville next to her, the glittering starry sky overhead... she felt a little bit empty. Hogwarts wasn’t the same without her best friend, and nothing and no one could change that.

***

Draco had never hated the sight of anything more than that of Hogwarts castle. He had a few triumphs here on these grounds--the quidditch pitch, the Slytherin common room, the hallways where he had exchanged insults and the occasional spell with Potter--but now the place reminded him only of the deaths he had witnessed in the corridors, the lies he had told to his friends and professors, the bathroom where, Merlin help him, he had poured his heart out to a girl fifty years dead. Hogwarts meant suffering and murder and hatred. Fire and secrets and the green flash of the killing curse. More than anything, it meant failure. He had failed to kill Dumbledore and so had been in exile for over a year. He had failed to take down a single fighter on the side of the Light during that infamous battle. He had failed to even remain standing for the cause his parents and grandparents had supported and fought for practically all their lives. No, in the end he quietly sat down, his mother and father beside him, and hoped for the best.

The best ended up being a father thrown in Azkaban, still awaiting trial, and a mother exiled to France, where she lived with distant relatives. More than anything, she wanted him to finish school, but Draco couldn’t stand the thought of turning tail and going to Durmstrang or even Beauxbatons. And he knew his father wouldn’t want him to be such a coward. He would endure one more year at Hogwarts and then, hopefully, he would never see any of those people ever again.

His spirits were lifted fractionally, however, by the fact that he hadn’t seen Potter at all since getting on the train. For a brief instant Draco thought maybe he was gone forever, either dead or run away, but surely the papers would have said something about it. He read every article each morning at the long, empty table at Malfoy Manor, where he was now the sole occupant. (The bevy of house elves, of course, didn’t count.)

When the welcome feast was over and the last traces of dessert were cleared from the golden plates, Draco rose with the rest of his house and descended the stairs to their dungeon common room. No one looked at him, no one spoke to him. The minute he had boarded the Hogwarts Express, not a single Slytherin had spared him more than a passing glance. He was a disgrace, a blemish on the face of the house. The remaining sons and daughters of captured Death Eaters certainly had nothing to brag about--some had lost their family fortunes, many of them had been orphaned and shipped off to live with relatives over the summer--but Draco was beneath even the lowest of them. Draco was a traitor and a coward. By this point in the evening, he was used to the silence he encountered everywhere he looked, and the way conversations suddenly stopped when he neared.

Goyle and Nott were the only boys in his dormitory now. Somehow, over the summer, the room had shrunk and the beds been rearranged to accommodate three instead of five. Crabbe had perished in the very fiendfyre he had conjured, and Blaise had seemingly disappeared. The Zabinis were always good at not taking sides politically, but it was known who Zabini hung around with at school and where *their* loyalties lay, so he wasn’t taking any chances getting pinned along with them.

All three boys dressed for bed without saying a word, and drew the curtains around their beds as usual. Draco, however, left a small gap near the head of his bed so he could look out through the window. The night was cold already, even though it was only September, and faint blue-white light shone through, giving an eerie colour to his pale skin. He would get through this. He had to. The Malfoy name depended solely on him now. His father was disgraced and he was the only heir. Whatever it took, he would restore their reputation in the wizarding world. His only fear was that no one would even notice when he did.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Almost half the professors were brand new. Slughorn had retired again, saying he couldn’t take any more excitement, so the students now had a no-nonsense witch of about forty teaching Potions. Transfiguration was taught now by a jovial old wizard who started out each new class with a transfiguration-related joke or pun. By the end of the first week, however, he had run out and began to recycle them, causing the students to merely roll their eyes instead of laugh politely. Astronomy and Arithmancy also had new professors. However, Trelawney still held her position as Divination professor. Flitwick and Sprout remained as well, and Hagrid. And it had been difficult to find anyone for the cursed Defense position, though MacGonagall had made it quite clear that with Voldemort dead, the curse was lifted. Finally, Hermione had learned from the letter accompanying her Head Girl badge, a mere week before term started, Augusta Longbottom, Neville’s gran, stepped up to the DADA position.

The first week of class was, as usual, both pointless and draining. Not much was accomplished besides the distributing and reading of syllabi and the laying out of expectations for N.E.W.T. students. The first weekend came quickly, and the second one just as fast. The third weekend was the first Hogsmeade trip of the term, but the thought brought little joy to Hermione. Nonetheless, she put on her cloak and tromped out along with the rest of her housemates above third year. Neville and Ron chattered on about quidditch the entire way to Hogsmeade, and barely noticed when she started for the bookshop instead of the quidditch shop with them. She saw Luna watching her as she trailed behind the boys and through the door, but the Ravenclaw just gave her that funny little smile she had and let her go.

After two hours spent reading a book on popular household charms in the nineteenth century, Hermione needed to stretch her legs. She replaced the book on the shelf and the lady at the front counter nodded at her, smiling, as she left. What Hermione really loved about this particular bookstore was that no one there got upset with you for just reading without buying.

Her feet took her to the end of the village, and Hermione only realized where she was when the Shrieking Shack came into full view before her. There they had learned of Peter Pettigrew’s betrayal and Sirius’ innocence, there Severus Snape had been blasted against the wall with Expelliarmus. She and Ron and Harry had done everything together--they had practically saved the wizarding world together--and now look at them. Like three pieces of a broken wand, scattered far from one another and dull, useless, alone. She leaned her elbows on the top of the fence and sighed, fighting the tears that stung her eyes.

A scuffling noise off to her right caught her attention. She turned to see Draco Malfoy perched atop a large rock a few yards away, also staring at the Shack. Hermione was frozen. Had he noticed her? If she moved to leave, could she get out of there before he could do anything?

The problem was solved for her as he said, without looking at her, “Find your own place to sulk, Granger. I was here first.”

“It’s a public space,” she snapped back. Merlin, she thought to herself, what am I, six years old?

“Mooning about Potter, are you?” he drawled. He had his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them. It wasn’t yet cold enough for hats and scarves, but he, too, wore a cloak, thick black wool with a silver serpent clasp.

“None of your business.” Great, she had as good as admitted, at least, that something was bothering her.

He gave a breathy, mirthless laugh. “I would’ve thought the Boy Wonder would be all too happy to return to the place of his victory,” he said bitterly. “I would’ve thought he’d want to sign millions of autographs and tell the story of how he defeated You-Know-Who over and over and--”

“His name,” Hermione interrupted, “was Voldemort.” Draco visibly winced at the word, as if he’d been slapped. “He’s dead, Malfoy. Why are you still afraid to say his name?”

He clenched his jaw and said nothing.

“Habit, I guess,” she muttered, leaning on the fence once more. Almost everyone she knew still didn’t dare to speak his name. Even the stoutest of aurors, the bravest among her classmates, the ones who had seen him face-to-face and lived. Their entire culture had been petrified of the man for years, so it really was no wonder, if she thought about it logically. But Hermione herself had vowed never to use some stupid-sounding euphemism for the name of Lord Voldemort ever again.

She heard Draco mutter something under his breath, then the scraping sound his shoes made as he climbed down off the rock and started toward the path that would lead to the village. His head was hanging and his hands were in his pockets. His shoulders were slumped. Hermione had never seen him like this. Granted, he and his family had been on the losing side when the war was over, and his father was, yet again, in Azkaban. But this person before her didn’t look like Draco Malfoy. He was still two metres away and she could see the faint purple circles beneath his eyes. Her Gryffindor, Head Girl instincts got the best of her before she could think about it, and she took a step forward. “Malfoy, are you all--”

“Fuck off, Mudblood,” he spat, and walked faster.

Fine, she thought, and turned back toward the shrieking shack. A minute later she didn’t hear his footsteps anymore, and a minute after that she started back to the village herself. She had said she would meet her friends at the Three Broomsticks for lunch, and after looking at her watch, she discovered she was right to start toward the pub when she did.

***

Draco walked down the main street of Hogsmeade, his head still down, hands stuffed in his pockets. Though he crossed paths with a couple of housemates, they didn’t even look at him. Granger had been the first person to speak to him for weeks. Even at breakfast this morning, rather than asking him to pass the plate of toast, Pansy had leaned across the table and grabbed it for herself, then sat down again, talking all the while to Tracey Davis without pause.

Hogwarts was quiet when he returned, since more than half the school was in the village. He got a few books from his dormitory, but rather than do his assigned reading in the common room, he opted for the library. It had become his usual haunt since the beginning of the term. People weren’t supposed to talk in the library, so it was less obvious there that no one ever spoke to him. He took his usual table in the far back corner and began to read for Potions. He didn’t want to bother with lunch--more silence, more whispered conversations with occasional glances in his direction--but his stomach wouldn’t allow him to miss supper as well. Having finished not only his Potions reading, but the reading for Transfiguration as well, Draco returned his books to his room slowly in hopes of missing the dinner rush, then descended the stairs to the Great Hall.

As he had expected, the tables were half-empty when he arrived. He took his customary place at the end of the Slytherin table furthest from the door and silently filled his plate. Once he began eating, however, he realized he wasn’t hungry. After pushing his food around for a few minutes, he stood up, intending to get his Arithmancy charts and start on the essay due Monday. A loud burst of laughter from across the room caught his attention; Weasley was making a scene, as usual, and his sister and another Gryffindor were laughing at the pantomime he was performing. Draco couldn't tell what it was supposed to be from here and didn’t care. Just before he stepped over the bench, however, he caught sight Granger sitting next to the boisterous Weasley. Instead of laughing along with the rest of the Gryffindors, she had her chin on her hand and was staring at nothing. Mooning for Potter, Draco thought again, and left the Great Hall as quickly as possible without drawing undue attention. Not that he ever drew any attention anymore.

***

The night before Halloween was traditionally Mischief Night for muggles, most especially rowdy teenagers. Somehow the Slytherins found out about this and set about playing pranks on each other and, when they could get away with it, students in other houses as well. Dung bombs were detonated just outside doorways, fanged frisbees were whipped about outside, their players thinking them to be ordinary toys, and someone had charmed the showers the fifth-year Hufflepuff girls used to spray water that would turn the user’s hair and skin bright green for a full day.

Of course the Gryffindors couldn’t bear to be out-pranked. A myriad of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products appeared throughout the castle as soon as they caught a whiff of the first dungbomb and found out why. All the toilet paper was emptied from one of the loos on the fourth floor and a couple of students charmed the rolls to cover the entirety of the outside of Ravenclaw tower.

“I have had it up to here,” Hermione hissed, and though she made no indicative hand gesture to any part of her body, Ron caught her meaning. “You didn’t have anything to do with the toilet-papering, did you?”

“No!” he said immediately, though she was sure that he wished he had done by the way he'd doubled over with laughter upon hearing about it. 

Hermione paced across the common room, fists clenched at her sides, and Ron turned back to the chess game at which he was soundly beating Dean. “If I could just catch someone,” she muttered, “and make an example....” Wisely, neither Ron nor Dean said anything. After checking her watch, Hermione swept out of the portrait hole and into the corridor. Curfew wasn’t for an hour yet, and she was sure someone was bound to be up to something, somewhere. And she would find them and put an end to this foolishness!

Half an hour later she had patrolled the sixth floor, gone down to the fifth, then tracked down Ernie MacMillan, the Head Boy, and made him take the fourth floor with her. Neither of them saw or heard anything out of the ordinary, but as they rounded a corner on the fourth floor, Hermione heard an unusual noise. Her arm shot out to stop MacMillan, who ran straight into it. “Steady on, now,” he said with a frown, but she shushed him. The noise was still there, like sparks against stone. Putting a finger to her lips, Hermione crept down the hallway, stopping at the corner. A simple reflection spell on her palm let her see, when she angled her hand just right, a couple of Slytherins with their wands outstretched and pointing at a blank expanse of wall. 

Taking the charm off her hand, Hermione took a deep breath, then strode around the corner. Ernie trailed in her wake, and he at least had the sense to get his wand out as well. “Stop what you are doing right now!” she yelled. The Slytherins jumped and looked over their shoulders at her. They were about to take off running when another student came around the far corner. Either way they went, they’d be caught. They’d been spotted and recognized--Nott and Goyle--and knew when to give up and hope for mercy. “Ten points each from Slytherin,” Hermione said, her brows drawn together in a frown as she advanced on them, wands still up. “We’ll see what more the headmistress has to add when Ernie brings her back.” She heard nothing behind her. When she shot a glance over her shoulder, though, Ernie got the point. He bobbed an awkward bow and took off running for MacGonagall’s office.

The two boys had, by now, crossed their arms, wands still out. They both turned to look at her, and the shock that had initially crossed their features faded until their eyes glinted predatorily. Head Girl or not, Hermione realized she was now alone with two Slytherins who were both a lot bigger and a lot meaner than her. She took an involuntary step backwards, wand still trained in their direction, and looked past them to the student at the other end of the hall. He wasn’t even looking at them. Instead, his eyes were trained on the wall Goyle and Nott had been working on. Shaky black letters marred the pale surface of the stones and the words took up the space from the ceiling to six or so feet above the floor.

“Draco Malfoy,” the words read, “is a cowardly, traitorous, motherless ferret who doesn’t deserve the--”

But no one would know what he didn’t deserve because at that point, Hermione had come upon them and they were forced to stop writing.

The student staring at the words was Draco himself. His mouth fell open at first, but he forced it shut as he read the message once more, then again. He could have handled it, but for one word that stood out bolder than the rest in his mind. His rucksack was hanging off one shoulder, and he still carried a book in one hand. His knuckles were white, he gripped it so hard. “What the fuck is this?” he grit out.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Thankfully, the boys who had been advancing on Hermione turned around at the sound of his voice. “What’s it look like Malfoy?” Nott sneered.

It was a sign of how very alone he had been for the past two months that the first thought to cross Draco’s mind was that Nott’s words to him were the first he had received from another Slytherin since the beginning of the term. Two months without so much as a “Pass the butter.” For half an instant, Draco felt lighter inside. Then he read those words again and his expression hardened. “It looks like you’re insulting me,” he grit out.

“Well done,” said Goyle, and he laughed. Then he and Nott both turned their attention back to Hermione, thinking Malfoy beneath their notice once more.

Hermione was beginning to panic, though she tried not to show it. “The headmistress will be here any minute,” she said, wand still raised to shoulder level.

“Yes,” sneered Nott. “And what about when she isn’t here?”

Straightening her spine and hoping to Merlin Ernie brought MacGonagall back quickly, Hermione said, “The two of you have defaced school property and slandered another student.” For some reason she thought that as long as she kept talking, they couldn’t hurt her. “I have every faith that Headmistress MacGonagall will see to it that you not only clean your mess up,” she jerked her head at the wall, “but apologize to Mr. Malfoy.”

The same moment the two of them snorted their laughter, Draco cried out from the other end of the corridor, “I don’t need your fucking charity, Granger.”

“It’s not charity,” she yelled back, as horrified by that thought as he was, “it’s my job!”

“Language, Mr. Malfoy,” Headmistress MacGongall said as she swept around the corner, Ernie at her side. A few other curious students were trailing along as well. “Nott, Goyle? Explain yourselves.”

She gave them approximately two seconds to begin stammering out some lie or other before she tore into them. On top of the ten points each the Head Girl had deducted from Slytherin, she took away fifty more points--each--and gave them both detention with Filch to clean the spelled letters off the wall, without magic. If the admittedly harsh punishment, even for such an act, was any indication, it seemed Hermione wasn’t the only one on her last nerve because of the pranks.

***

Once Nott and Goyle had been personally escorted back to their dormitory by the headmistress and the small crowd dispersed to spread the gossip all over the school, Hermione thought it was safe to go. As she went to cast a temporary glamour over the words on the wall, however, to hide the them until the Slytherins could take them off, she noticed Draco was still standing there staring at them. He looked in her direction when he heard her approach, but then turned his eyes back to the graffiti. He was even more pale than was normal for him, and the circles beneath his eyes were darker than ever before. Since the start of school, he seemed to have lost weight, so his cheekbones stood out even more sharply and his elbows seemed painfully angular.

Very tentatively, and after putting her wand in her pocket as a sign of goodwill, Hermione asked, “What... what do they mean, about your mother?” she asked.

“She’s dead,” Draco said, his voice as blank as his expression.

Hermione swallowed, looking between him and the wall, then back to him. “I hadn’t heard. I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“No you’re not,” he spat, then hitched his rucksack up on his shoulder and started back the way he had come.

“I am!” she called after him. “I can’t imagine....” She trailed off as she saw the single finger he had raised at her, still not looking at her. “Well,” she muttered. She shook herself slightly, telling herself it was just Malfoy and he’d never had any manners, but as she covered up that word, “motherless,” with a glamour charm, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

***

"Fucking Granger," Draco muttered under his breath. He only realized he was still gripping the book in his hand white-knuckled-tightly when he reached up to open the door to the common room. Gritting his teeth, he transferred it to the other hand and went inside. Ignoring Nott and Goyle, who were glaring at him from chairs near the fire, he started up the stairs.

When he entered his dormitory, he turned to throw his book and bag on his bed, as usual, but something wasn't right. He looked around, but his mind wouldn't take in the sight for a moment. Then it clicked: there were only two beds. The space where his had been was just an empty patch of rug. His trunk was pushed up against the wall in its place, and the robes and things that had been in his wardrobe--which had also, apparently, vanished--were piled atop it. Even his nightstand with the lamp was gone.

The door clicked open behind him and he jumped, wand halfway out. It was Goyle, and Nott just behind him. "Good work with your charms homework," Goyle said loudly, not even glancing at Draco.

"Yes," Nott said. "I really think I've got the vanishing spell down now." They laughed darkly, and Draco saw them look over at him briefly before once more ignoring him.

After collecting a handful of books, which was obviously just an excuse to come upstairs and torment him further, they went back down into the common room and left Draco alone. After going through his things and making sure nothing had been hexed or tampered with--he'd learned the testing spell quite well within the first week at school--he transfigured a boot into a desk and its mate into a chair, then after some concentration, changed his (now empty) trunk into a bed. More like a cot, it was no comparison to the huge four-posters the school provided, but it would do. When his roommates came back up several hours later, Draco was still at his desk working on Arithmancy. No one said a word while they dressed for bed, and when Nott spelled out all the lights, even the one Draco had on his desk, he decided he might as well try and sleep too. He undressed in the dark and slid beneath the coarse sheets, hoping the transfiguration he'd put on his trunk would at least last until morning.

***

"Whiskers?"

"I heard it was the whole nose!"

"I heard it was his whole face!"

"What are we talking about?" Hermione asked as she sat down at the Gryffindor table Halloween morning. Enchanted jack-o-lanterns floated above the tables, and she noticed Nearly Headless Nick, whom she could see hovering near the Hufflepuff table, taking great joy in showing his "trick" to the new first-years.

"Malfoy," Ron told her around a mouthful of egg and toast. "Hexed to have a ferret nose."

"I'm telling you, Ron," Ginny said, "it was his whole face! I heard it from Lavender."

"Yeah, whatever." Ron rolled his eyes and shoveled in more food.

"Why don't you track him down and ask him?" Ginny snapped.

"Maybe I will." Ron glared at her, but Ginny glared right back. Hermione stopped listening, used to their bickering, and focused instead on her breakfast. All through the meal, though, she furtively stole glances at the Slytherin table. Not unexpectedly, Draco never showed up. She didn't see him in Advanced Potions that morning, and he wasn't at lunch either. She started to believe the rumours that he had been hexed. When she'd had a cat face all that time in second year, she hadn't wanted anyone to see her, either.

He didn’t even show up for supper, and that's when she decided something must be truly wrong. Every student at Hogwarts always showed up for the Halloween feast of caramel apples, popcorn, chocolate, cider, and a multitude of other sweets and treats. The Headless Hunt put on quite a show at one end of the Great Hall this year (with Nick sulking near the back). Six years ago on this night, Hermione remembered, Professor Quirrel had come running into the Great Hall, claiming to have seen a troll in the dungeons. It was on that night that she, Harry, and Ron had become forever friends, or so she had thought at the time. Harry wasn't here anymore, and while she still nagged Ron about his homework and sat with him in the classes they shared, her heart wasn't in it like before.

Professor Flitwick, after the hunt, lead all the charmed jack-o-lanterns through a complicated choreographed sort of dance over the heads of the students. Once the applause died down and he took a bow, the Great Hall's occupants, almost all at once, rose from their seats and started toward their respective common rooms, most likely to continue Halloween celebrations and the eating of more sweets. 

Hermione let herself be swept along with a gaggle of other Gryffindors, but when she was shoved toward the outside of the group, she saw, briefly, a flash of pale blond hair and a dark cloak. The figure was hurrying through the doorway she knew to lead to the kitchen. It had to be Draco Malfoy. As she took several more steps away from the crowd going up the stairs to the second floor, Hermione told herself she was following him to make sure he was all right from the hexing, and to ask why he hadn't reported it to any professors. But as she passed through the same doorway, she had to admit that a small part of her was curious as to the nature of the hex, and whether Ginny was right in saying Malfoy's entire face had been hexed to look like a ferret.

The painting of a bowl of fruit, the hidden entrance to the kitchen, closed just as she came around the last corner. She couldn’t just walk inside or he’d know she was following him, but perhaps he would talk to her if she “happened” upon him on his way out. A few minutes later he reentered the corridor, his hands full of paper packages containing, Hermione supposed, food from the house elves that worked in the kitchens. She was just about to step forward when she saw him turn (with his face perfectly normal-looking) not toward the corridor that would lead to the Slytherin common room, down which she could hear the bustle of students from that house, but the other direction. She wasn’t sure what lay down that way, but decided to follow, quietly, and make sure he wasn’t up to anything nefarious. The packages might not be food after all, though she couldn’t imagine the house elves giving a student anything dangerous.

Just this once, for the safety of a student and possibly the school, Hermione would break the “no magic in the corridors” rule. She cast a silencing spell over her feet so they wouldn’t make a sound against the stone floor, then hurried after him. She could hear the patter of his feet well enough, and it was easy to keep one turn behind him. He went up a flight of stairs she didn’t know existed, then made several more turns. When she rounded one of the corners, however, Hermione was shocked to see nothing but a tapestry depicting the beheading of Gottfried the Good.

“Must be a secret passage,” she muttered to herself. Lifting the tapestry away from the wall revealed nothing, but after trying a few unlocking spells, a doorway appeared, and a stairwell beyond it. Lighting her wand with lumos and keeping it pointed low to the floor, Hermione advanced slowly. She heard no sound of steps ahead of her and hoped she hadn’t lost him. At the top of the stairs, there was a door and nothing else. He had to be inside. She wondered what the room beyond the door could be. There was only one way to find out.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Draco was beginning to unwrap the first package the elves had given him, his mouth watering at the smell of warm rolls, when he heard a knock on the door. Immediately he blew out the single candle he had lit, and drew his wand in the same movement. Who could possibly have found him? How? It was only after a long night of wandering--he couldn’t make himself sleep, between the thoughts of his mother and the uncomfortable bed he’d transfigured--that he’d found this place. The dungeons were a veritable maze of corridors, sufficient for him to almost lose himself in. Bored and tired, he’d shot harmless spells at the tapestry of Gottfried to make him dodge and scowl, and discovered the passage by the strange, hollow sound he heard when his spells bounced off the stone behind it. And here was this little room, perfectly round, with a desk and chair, a small bureau, and a bed. It had no windows, which was fine by Draco. He memorized the path to it on his way back to the dormitories just before dawn and vowed to return later to explore it.

When he woke up with a ferret’s nose, he decided he’d had enough, and he was going to move all his things there to get the hell away from his sadistic roommates. When he was sure they were both in class after breakfast, Draco gathered all his things, shrunk them and put them in his pocket, and returned to the mysterious room as quickly as he could. Thankfully he hadn’t seen anyone on his way, and he spent the rest of the afternoon going through books to find the counter-spell to the hex Nott or Goyle had put on him. Even once the nose and whiskers had disappeared he didn’t dare venture out. By supper time, though, with the sounds of the feast in the Great Hall very faint (he thought perhaps the pipes somehow carried the noise to his little room), he was starving after not eating all day, and went to the kitchens to order the house elves to give him food.

They were, of course, all too happy to oblige, and loaded him up with enough to last several days. Very pleased, as he wouldn’t have to show his face in the Great Hall for the rest of the year as long as the elves kept feeding him, Draco made his way back to the room to finally eat. But the knock disturbed more than just his meal; they disturbed his peace of mind.

He sat in complete darkness, save for a very faint light coming through the keyhole of the door. After a moment, it vanished, and he thought that whoever was on the other side must be blocking the light by looking through. Then the person stood back and knocked again. He heard a voice. “Malfoy?”

It was bloody Granger! Couldn’t the Head Girl keep her bushy head out of his business? How had she even have found him?

“Malfoy?” she called again. “I know you’re in there. I heard about what happened, and I...” It sounded as though she was fighting against saying this, but at last it came out: “I want to help. If you’ll let me.”

Enraged, Draco stood up, groped his way to the door, and unlocked it. A second later he threw it open, but stood there blinking in the light from Granger’s wand for a moment before he snarled, “What the hell do you want?”

She took a step back, her wand still pointing at the ground. “I-I-I....” He saw her swallow, hard. “I heard... you were hexed. And as Head Girl, it is my duty to ensure the s-safety and w-well-being of all the st--”

“I told you already,” he spat, “I don’t need your fucking charity.” He was ready to slam the door in her face when it occurred to him to ask, “How did you find me?”

“I, um. I followed you,” she admitted in a small voice.

It raised his spirits, very fractionally, to see her cowering like that. “Why?” he demanded.

“Well, I... As I said, as Head Girl--”

“Bullshit!” She jumped when he yelled, and that made him smile cruelly. “You can’t stand not to have your nose in someone else’s business, Granger. Seems to have rubbed off on you from Potter, following people around, hexing them to within an inch of their lives!” The combined efforts of Snape and Madam Pomfrey had done an excellent job healing the slashes Potter had given him with the Sectumsempra spell in sixth year, but a few of the wounds had scabbed over to become permanent scars. Thankfully none marred his face, but there was a nasty one across the back of his right hand, and several more across his chest. “I don’t need or want your help,” he shouted, “so fuck off!”

“I’m only trying to help!” she huffed, crossing her arms. The light from her wand moved and cast huge, dark shadows as she did so. “I heard you were hexed and wanted to ask you about it, but you took off from the kitchens so quickly I couldn’t, er, catch up in time.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying,” he said. He could always tell. It was a quality that had once made him such a natural leader amongst his peers. 

“No I’m not!” she said defensively, glaring back at him. “Look, I’ve been watching you. I see you in class and in the Great Hall and.... no one speaks to you. You’re always sitting alone at the end of the table, or in the library.”

“What do you care?” he shouted. “What do you care about me? You should be thrilled that the son of a fucking Death Eater and his slag of a wife is shunned by his peers! You’ve hated me since the moment we met as first-years, you’re probably rejoicing at my bad fortune! Go! Go back to your friends and tell them all about poor, pathetic Draco Malfoy, chased out of his dormitory, his house, to go and live in a dusty old room down a forgotten corridor! I’m sure it’ll give them quite a laugh!” His breath came quickly and shallowly and his cheekbones were highlighted with red. Eyes stinging with the beginning of tears, he took a step backward, panting, and leveled his wand at her. “Go!” he said again.

Hermione trembled, hesitating. When the tip of his wand began to shoot red sparks at the ground, however, she turned quickly and fled down the stairs, taking the eerie blue light of her wand with her. Only once he heard the grinding of the secret doorway’s stones sliding back into place did Draco lower his wand. He relit the candle with a spell, then shut and locked the door to his room, suddenly, once more, losing his appetite. After carefully wrapping the food up, he lay down on the small, soft bed, blew out the candle, and lay staring up at the darkness for hours until sleep finally took him.

***

It was almost a week before Hermione dared to get near him again. She spent much of her time in the library--alone, of course, gods forbid Ron or Ginny or Neville step foot in there more than they absolutely had to--and she had seen Draco there enough to know his usual spot. Hermione took a table across the aisle from him and spread out the books and parchments she needed for her Potions essay, sneaking glances at him now and then. Occasionally, she caught him looking over at her too, and she would quickly look away as he glared at her. 

Once her essay was outlined and she had four pages of notes, Hermione put away her Potions things; the essay wasn’t due for three more days, and she’d done enough work on it for the afternoon. She took out her Arithmancy homework next and finished it quickly, but as she was about to put it away, an idea struck her. She picked up the worksheet and her quill and walked over to Draco’s table, her heart pounding in her throat. “Did you do worksheet number fourteen for Arithmancy yet?” she asked.

He stared up at her like she was a talking hinkypunk. “What?”

“Did you finish worksheet fourteen for Arithmancy?” she asked again. “I wasn’t sure about some of my answers and I was wondering if I could check them against yours.”

Draco shook his head. “Excuse me, Granger,” he said, “I must not have heard you right. Surely you didn’t just say you were unsure about homework.”

“I just wanted to check,” she said, gingerly sitting down across the table from him. When he didn’t immediately shout at her to leave, she took it as a good sign. “You do better in that class than I do, anyway,” she went on, hoping the little ego boost would prompt him to talk.

“I must be going mad,” Draco said, halfway to himself. "Gryffindor's Golden Girl admitting she's not the best at something? Don't let anyone hear you, Granger,” he said as he looked up at her, “least the entire school die of shock."

She bit her lip to keep from smiling. “What did you get for number four?” she asked.

Half an hour later, they were deep into a discussion about the previous day’s lecture. Hermione mentioned an article she’d read last year on the topic they'd covered, but Draco said he’d heard the theory it was written about had been disproved. Before she knew it, they were searching through the Arithmancy section of the stacks together for the book Draco claimed to have seen the second article in.

“Here it is,” she said, holding an open book out to him. He took it and scanned the page, nodding.

“Yes,” he said, and handed the book back. “That’s the one.”

“You were right,” said Hermione with a shrug, then closed and reshelved the book.

Draco reached out to grab hold of a shelf, lowering his head and looking at her hard. “I think you’re going to kill the school of shock after all,” he said, “if you keep saying things like that.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw the hint of a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

She came to the same area of the library the next day, and the day after that. The fourth time she came, she didn’t even pretend to check her homework with him; instead, she simply sat down at his table, took out her books, and began to read without saying a word. He thought the silence was... somewhat companionable. Not really comfortable--she was still Hermione Granger, after all, and he was still Draco Malfoy--but they had half their classes together, and there was nothing wrong studying with the smartest girl in his year. People looked at them strangely and whispered while glancing over at them, but this was nothing new for Draco. And he thought Hermione seemed to take it particularly well also.

He didn’t see her at all over the weekend. He was still taking his meals in his secret room, and a quidditch match on Saturday kept her away from the library all afternoon, since it lasted nearly five hours. (He heard later that bad weather had been the cause of very poor visibility, allowing the snitch to elude both the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw seekers for so long.) He didn’t know what happened to her Sunday, but she had friends and he didn’t, so Draco thought little of it.

Until his rucksack was split down the middle as he was walking between classes; the work of a spell from one of his classmates, no doubt. Silently, Draco bent to pick up the scattered books, parchments, and quills after he charmed his bag back into one piece. When he heard Hermione’s voice just around the corner, he looked up, but then Ron Weasley started talking over the top of her and Draco froze.

“Malfoy?” Ron asked incredulously. “Seriously, Hermione, Malfoy?”

“What do you care, Ron?” she retorted, and Draco was pleased to hear the anger and indignation in her voice, especially directed at Weasley. “We’re studying together, that’s all.”

“Yeah right, that’s all,” he muttered. “He’s probably plotting ways to hex you.”

“Ronald, if he’d wanted to hex me, don’t you think he’d have done it by now?”

“Well I dunno! Maybe he’s pretending to be your friend so he can get you alone and knock you off or something!”

Draco could practically see her rolling her eyes at him, and smiled a little at the thought. “You’re being ridiculous. Just drop it, okay?”

“I will not drop it!” he shouted. “He’s up to something. I know it.”

“What is he ‘up to’ then, since you so clearly have a view into his head despite never having spent any time with him.” she said sarcastically.

“He hates your guts, Hermione! You helped take down his bloody lord and master, and now he’s out for rev--”

“Voldemort--don’t flinch like that you big baby, good grief--Voldemort was not his ‘lord and master,” Hermione hissed. “He got in too deep too quickly, I know it. You know what he was after in sixth year, but he didn’t do it, he never could bear to.”

“What about when he let all those Death Eaters into the school?” Ron sneered.

“He was scared, Ronald,” she said. “He had to. He was under such pressure from his father, I’m sure of it, and it was far too late for him to back out. I heard...” She lowered her voice to a whisper, and Draco had to strain to hear her over the bustle of students in the hallway as he shoved the last few things in his bag. “I heard Voldemort was going to kill his parents if he didn’t do as he was told. You’d do it too.”

“I would not!” yelled Ron. “Not for him!”

“Oh shut it!” Hermione snapped. “You don’t know what you would do in that situation, Ronald, because you haven’t the guts to even think about it. You have no idea what Malfoy’s been through.”

That was quite enough. Draco stood up and rounded the corner quickly, a dark look in his eyes. “What have I been through, Granger?” he asked. “How would you know?”

She looked horrified, and seemed to be trying to stammer out an answer, but Ron grabbed her wrist and snapped at Draco, “You stay away from her.” Then he started pulling her down the hallway after him.

“Let go!” Hermione shouted, shoving at his arm. “Ron, let go! Stop it!” By the time she struggled free, Draco was halfway down the corridor. “Malfoy!” she yelled after him, but he didn’t even turn around.

He didn’t go to the library anymore. He didn’t want to hear her stupid excuses and empty apologies. Besides classes, the library was Draco’s only escape from his room--his cell--and he missed it, but he wanted to avoid Hermione more than he wanted to get out of his room. She’d only been pitying him, and there was nothing in the world Draco hated more than being pitied.

He couldn’t bear to deny himself the next Hogsemeade trip, though. The freezing air felt good in his lungs as he walked the path to the village several metres behind the last group of students. His boots crunched through dirty, half-packed snow, and when he deviated from the road at the edge of the town, the noise underfoot was even more satisfying. With his cloak, scarf, and hat, he didn’t need a warming charm as he made his way toward the field overlooking the Shrieking Shack. After spelling the snow off the top of the large rock there, he climbed up to his usual spot to stare out over the little valley below. Almost everyone still believed the Shack was haunted, so he thought he wouldn’t be bothered here.

He sat in peace for nearly half an hour, but the instant he heard the sound of footsteps behind him, Draco drew his wand and leapt to his feet, turning around to face the intruder. “Oh,” he said. He should have known better. He turned his back and leaned against the rock, arms crossed, and looked out over the valley.

***

It was rather disappointing, the way he ignored her, but Hermione was determined to make amends with him. He had no one else, she knew that for a fact. And she knew he had done some terrible things, as Ron had reminded her, but he’d been punished more than enough, she thought. “I haven’t seen you in the library for a while,” she said softly once she was only a few feet away. Draco didn’t reply. “I only got an ‘E’ on my last Arithmancy exam,” she went on, “and I was wondering if we could go over our results together. What did you get?”

“Bugger off, mudblood.”

The slur hurt, but she persevered. “That was an apology, Malfoy,” she said, a bit of a snap in her tone.

“Why can’t you apologise like a normal person?” he snapped back.

“Fine: I’m sorry." Her tone was sharp, but then her expression and her voice softened. "I don’t have any right to assume anything about what you went through, what... what you’re still going through.”

He glanced over at her. “No you bloody well don’t,” he muttered. Then he looked away again.

Hermione moved to lean against the stone next to him, her arms also crossed beneath her grey cloak. She didn’t know what to say next, so she said nothing. They stood there in silence for several minutes, gazing out at the Shrieking Shack. It began to snow, large, icy flakes. 

“Why isn’t Potter at school?” Draco asked.

Hermione never expected him to actually ask her like this, though she knew it must be driving him mad. “He... he doesn’t want to come back. Too many bad memories, he says.” Draco snorted and shook his head. “I know it seems like Hogwarts was nothing but wonderful for him," Hermione went on. "But a lot of bad stuff happened here too. And he didn’t want to deal with all the attention, and the--”

“You’re honestly telling me that The Boy Who Lived didn’t come back to school because he was sick of signing bloody autographs?” Draco scoffed.

“You might not believe it,” Hermione said, her voice a little harsh, “but he can’t stand it. He hates it. You don’t know how many times he’s said he wished someone else had been fated to fight Voldemort.” Draco winced at the name like before but she went on. “How many times he wanted to run away from it all. But he didn’t. He stayed until the end. He stayed until he finished it.” She studied Draco’s profile carefully, but could find no flicker of emotion beneath the surface of his smooth, careful mask. He was so good at hiding things, unless it was his temper. 

It seemed like a long time later when he asked, quietly, “Do you miss him?”

She nodded. “Very much. All the time.”

Draco, too, nodded, staring at the snow at his feet. Another minute passed, and Hermione wondered if, in some small way, she’d finally gotten through to him, finally made him see, a little bit, Harry’s side of things. That it wasn’t all just playing the hero and getting commended for it. It wasn’t all having his picture in the paper. That it was hard, and it was bloody and painful and he hated every second of it.

“Maybe I’ll see you in the library tonight,” Draco muttered. Without another word, without even looking at her, he pushed off from the rock and started down the path toward the school.

***

It was too much; he had to get away from her. He did not care what bloody Granger thought or felt, and he certainly didn’t care about fucking Potter. Why should he? How could he, after what they’d done to him? But she'd apologised, something he wouldn't really have expected of her, the bloody know-it-all. And she was quite literally the only person who would speak to him.

As he'd said he would be, he was in the library that evening, and Hermione joined him after supper. She sat across the table from him and silently unpacked her books and parchments. They worked independently for some time before either of them even looked up. Finally, Hermione said, "You missed some really excellent pudding tonight at supper."

"I hate pudding," Draco said, glancing briefly up at her before returning to his Charms book.

"Oh." She hung her head back down. "What *do* you like?"

"Peace and quiet," he said, and that effectively shut her up. He could practically feel the hurt rolling off her in waves, though, so after a minute he said, "My mother never baked, but our house elves did. She would always send me shortbread biscuits. And around Christmas time... gingerbread. They were..." He lowered his voice even further. Not only was it painful to think about the care packages his mother used to send him, but it was bloody embarrassing to be admitting it to Granger. "They were dragon-shaped."

"For your name," Hermione said just as softly. He nodded. "I'm sure the elves would be happy to make--"

"It doesn't matter," he interrupted. "I don't care." He then settled into his book so deeply that Hermione didn't dare say another word until half an hour before curfew. When she began to pack her things, Draco did as well, both of them still not speaking. 

"What are you doing over the holidays?" she asked as she stood and swung her bag onto her shoulder.

"Staying here," he said shortly. The only thing that awaited him at Malfoy manor was a multitude of empty, cold rooms and too many bad memories. And most of the students would be gone from Hogwarts, so he would nearly have free reign of the place with no one to get in his way or whisper about him or hex him. Maybe he could even move back into his dormitory for a couple of weeks, until Nott and Goyle returned. 

"I'll be going home," she said softly.

He just nodded. "Evening," he said, and started quickly for the doors. It seemed he really would be quite alone over the holidays.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The Hogwarts express would be taking students back to London in one week, where most of them would be met by smiling parents and siblings and taken home for a warm, joyful Christmas. Alternately, most of the seventh-year students and some of the sixth-years would be apparating from Hogsmeade, having obtained their licenses already. Twelve gigantic trees stood in the Great Hall, decorated with candles, charmed icicles, ornaments of all colours, and bright garlands. Holly hung here and there over doorways, and candles with red or green flames burned in sconces in the corridors. 

And there was the mistletoe. Professors Sprout and Flitwick had teamed up, the herbology teacher providing the plant itself, and the diminutive charms professor enchanting bits of it to wander through the castle hallways in search of victims. Unlike ordinary mistletoe, the presence of which merely suggested a person caught beneath it be kissed, magical mistletoe would not release its prisoner until a kind passerby kissed him or her on the lips.

Ron found this out the hard way when he was caught beneath the spell on his way to Transfiguration one day. Ginny took pity on him (after a fair amount of laughing and pointing) and kissed the back of his hand, but he was still unable to move. She then tried his cheek, but still he remained caught. Claiming she would be late for Potions, she scurried off, mocking him all the way and making his face turn brighter red than his hair. Eventually Luna Lovegood floated past and kissed him properly, leaving Ron utterly speechless and giving Luna a funny little smile. "You may thank me now," she said.

"For wh-what?" Ron stammered.

"Saving you from the nargles," she replied. "Nasty creatures." Then she drifted off down the corridor toward the dungeons.

Hermione heard all about it at supper that night from Lavender, who had seen the whole thing. "I absolutely refused to rescue him," she said haughtily. "After how he treated me sixth year. I was hoping he'd be stuck there and miss class, but Loony came and saved him, so whatever." She rolled her eyes, then turned to Parvati to hear the new gossip on Terry Boot's latest dating escapades.

Having been very careful to avoid the blasted mistletoe herself, Hermione had successfully dodged it twice but was caught after Defense one day. She'd been walking down to lunch with Neville when it got her, freezing her in place. Blushing furiously, Neville gave her the quickest kiss in history, then scurried away muttering something she couldn't hear. As she rounded a corner, giggling to herself, a burst of laughter broke out behind her, and she turned back to see what was going on. 

Draco Malfoy was caught beneath a green sprig of the stuff, utterly unable to move from the spot. He clutched his Defense book against his chest, chin high and jaw tight, looking straight ahead, but Hermione noticed how wide his eyes were. Everyone cleared a wide path around him, leaving him alone in the center of the hallway. Though everyone pointed and snickered at him, none of them even paused on their way past him.

There were no two ways about it, she thought. She had to do something. Hiking the strap of her bag further up her shoulder, rage simmering deep in her belly, Hermione marched toward him, glaring at anyone who laughed. As she approached him, however, the laughter died down. Even the shuffling of feet ceased as everyone in the hall stopped to watch. Without a word, Hermione placed one (very slightly trembling) hand on Draco's shoulder, reached up on her tiptoes, and leaned toward him.

***

It had been months since anyone had touched him. Once, accidentally, a little Ravenclaw girl had bumped his shoulder hurrying through the doors of the Great Hall, and Draco had thought about it for the rest of the day, feeling it over and over again. But before that, nothing. He distinctly remembered the last human contact he had: his mother put her hand on his cheek, looking up into his eyes, and smiled sadly at him just before she took the Portkey to France to begin her Ministry-imposed exile. He dreamt of it sometimes, her cool fingers on his hot skin, and the tears in her eyes that she would never allow to fall. 

To say Hermione's hand on his shoulder shocked him would have been a terrible understatement. Just before she rounded the corner, he had resigned himself to living the rest of his days in that exact spot beneath the mistletoe until he died of starvation or possibly even old age. No one would come near enough to him to get him out from under the cursed plant; he knew that like he knew the sky was blue. Then he saw her with that flash of determination in her eyes, the same look she got before adding the final ingredient in a complicated potion or putting the finishing touches on an Arithmancy essay, and he didn't know what to think. He should have known she meant to kiss him, since she was the only person who had even spoken to him since September, but it never actually occurred to him until she leaned up on her toes.

And then her lips touched his and the world shattered. Though their eyes were open and their mouths were closed, though her lips were chapped, Draco thought he had never felt anything so tender or precious before. She smelled like green apples and something vaguely flowery; the scent washed over him for a mere instant, then she stood back and let her hand slide down his chest quickly to drop at her side. The mistletoe flitted off to antagonize some other poor student, but Draco still couldn't move. His tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he couldn't pry his fingers from around his book. His legs were locked and he couldn't even breathe. 

"Are you coming to lunch?" she asked quietly. A buzz of conversation started up all around them, and students began moving again, eager to spread this new gossip as far and wide as possible.

Draco forced himself to open his mouth. Good progress, but he needed more. He swallowed, then opened his mouth again. That was better. "No." There, he'd said something!

"All right." Hermione shifted her weight to her other foot, jutting her hip out in a very... interesting way. He looked from her hip to her face quickly, heart pounding. "See you tonight then?" she asked.

He nodded. The hallway was nearly empty now, but for a few straggling second-years gaping unabashedly as they toddled down the corridor.

Hermione started to turn away, but Draco finally found his voice. "Why?" he asked, a little too loudly for the silence.

She turned again, meeting his eyes. "Why what?" she asked.

"Why... didn't you wait until the hall was empty? You didn't have to do that."

Frowning, she crossed her arms, staring him down from a few feet away. "People need to get their heads out of their arses," she said, and he didn't even have time to recover from his shock at hearing such a word from her mouth before she went on. "You don't have cooties, for Merlin's sake. Besides," she shrugged, "we're friends. It's not like it needs to be a secret or anything. See you tonight!" And again she started toward the Great Hall.

Somehow, in a daze, Draco made it back to his little windowless room. He dumped his rucksack in the chair and set his book on the desk. He sat down on the side of his small bed. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. After a while, he stood up, took his bag, and went to Potions.

***

She'd been able to bear nearly all of Ron's tirade. All through dinner he said the same things over and over. Malfoy was a Death Eater. (But there were no more Death Eaters, as Hermione tried to remind him, because Voldemort was dead). Malfoy's father had given Ginny the diary that had almost killed her. (But Draco Malfoy was not his father). Malfoy had hated her and all her friends since first year. (But he didn't hate her now. Probably.) On and on and on, until halfway through her mashed potatoes, Hermione stopped arguing with him and simply tuned him out.

But then he said the one thing that became one thing too many. "Think what Harry would say if he were here!" Ron cried, leaning across the table and glaring at her.

Slowly, she looked up from her plate and put her fork down. "Harry's not here, though," she said in a low voice. "Is he?" Then she picked up her bag and left the Great Hall, going straight for the library. Halfway there, she couldn't hold it in any longer. The nearest loo was either two floors straight up, or on the other side of this level, so she slipped into an alcove housing a suit of armor and put her hand over her mouth, letting out a fraction of the tears that had been building inside her. She let her hair fall down over her face and did quite well at stifling her sobs so she made almost no noise; she'd had practice in her dorm room at night.

The sound of footsteps coming down the corridor shocked her into silence. Tears still rolled down her cheeks, but she held her breath and didn't make a sound. When the footsteps faded, she released a shaky breath that came out as a sob. Clapping her hand back over her mouth, she froze; the sound had echoed slightly in the alcove and the suit of armor shifted sleepily and grumbled a bit.

"Granger?" The footsteps resumed, coming back toward her. The person hadn't been as far away as she'd thought. And the person was, unfortunately, Draco Malfoy. He slipped into the alcove, but the instant he set eyes on her, he quickly looked away.

When enough time had passed that it seemed clear he wasn't going to ask if she was all right, or what was the matter, Hermione managed to whisper, "Ron is a stupid git."

"I already knew that," Malfoy muttered. He shifted his weight, hands in the pockets of his robe. "Are you still coming to the library?" She nodded, but since he hadn't heard an answer, he looked up at her. He watched silently as she took a handkerchief out of her bag and wiped at her eyes with it, then her nose.

"All right," she said, and sniffed. They started down the corridor toward the stairs at the end in silence. At the landing, he finally spoke.

"It's because of me," he said, and she knew better than to argue with him. "You can stop hanging around me if it's pissing off your friends. It would probably be better, actually."

"I'd rather be around you than around him," she grumbled.

"So... I take it you two aren't together any more?" Draco asked slowly.

Hermione gave a short, harsh laugh. "No. Not since the summer. Everything sort of fell apart after... after everything. His family was..." She swallowed, feeling her throat close up again. "Was mourning Fred. And I hadn't seen my parents for over a year and was trying to get them settled. And Harry... wouldn't talk to anyone. So I suppose 'fell apart' is a good way to put it. We all went off in our different directions."

They walked a bit more in silence, then Draco asked, "What happened with your parents? What do you mean you got them settled?"

She took a deep breath. "I modified their memories during the war. Sent them to Australia. They didn't... didn't even know they had a daughter. I thought it would be safer, that way. So after the war, I brought them back, and the spellwork to get rid of the memory charms took all of one day. Their first day 'back' was spent nursing me back to health, I suppose. It drained me, I wasn't completely well again for a couple of weeks. And they're not quite the same, though I did the best I could." She sniffed, willing herself not to cry again. "They forget little things, is all, like where they left their keys two minutes ago, or the names of some of their patients."

"Shit," Draco whispered, sounding both horrified and awed. Neither one said another word until they found their usual table in the library and piled their books and notes on it, sitting opposite, as usual. As usual, they worked in silence for a while. Nearly half an hour had passed before Hermione spoke.

"I meant it, you know," she said softly, not looking up. "About... rather being with you than him. Or... the rest of them, really. It's... not the same, since last June. Nothing is."

Draco nodded. "Nothing," he whispered, staring down at the blank parchment before him. "Look," he said, speaking in a more normal tone of voice, "I know it's different with your friends, but honestly, you'd be better off without me. Hanging around me isn't good for your reputation, and I don't need--"

"I don't care what you need." Hermione's interruption made him look up, and their eyes locked. "I'm not abandoning a friend just because some people don't like him." She gave a half-smile. "It's not as though it's deterred me before."

"Everyone loved Potter," he scoffed, "what are you talking about?"

"You forget the Rita Skeeter articles." When his cheeks turned pink and he looked down, Hermione knew he had not forgotten them, nor his part in getting them published. "The ministers, both Fudge and Scrimgeour. Half the school, sometimes, and more than half the school a few times. Remember what happened when everyone found out he spoke Parseltongue?"

"Okay, fine, The Boy Who Wouldn't Die hasn't always been at the top of the list of Wizarding Britain's favourite people."

His concession was enough for Hermione at the moment, and they both returned to their homework.

After making comments now and then as they read their Charms books simultaneously, checking each others' Arithmancy worksheets, and complaining about the Snape-like length of their next Potions essay, they packed up and started to leave, Hermione to her dorm, Draco to his hidden room. "I'll hex him, if you like," Draco said casually as they made their way to the library doors.

"What?" She looked over at him, puzzled.

"Weasley. If he makes you cry again."

Hermione laughed. "It's not as though it was the first time," she told him. "And it may not be the last. Anyway, what are you now? My big brother?"

He just looked at her. "I thought I was your friend."

"Ahh." She smiled. "True." When she glanced at him again, there was a small smile on his lips. She couldn't help but think that she had kissed those lips a few hours ago. Biting her tongue and berating herself for dwelling on it, she hardly noticed they passed the split in the hallway where they usually parted. "Where are you going?" she asked when she did realize.

"Walking you to your dorm," he smirked. "Since they're going to talk, we might as well give them something to talk about, hm?"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Smiling. He was actually smiling. Joking. Maybe even... a little bit happy. It seemed ages since he had girls fawning all over him, since he lay his head in Pansy's lap on the Hogwarts express and let her stroke his hair. He'd been a prince, once, but a few years ago, he'd tumbled from his throne to land, hard, in the dirt. He'd tried to pick himself back up a few times since then, but there didn't seem to be a point to it anymore. He'd given up.

But now there was Granger. Talking to him, touching him, actually wanting to spend time with him. Granger, of all people! The mudblood, the muggleborn know-it-all, the bushy-haired sidekick of Potty and the Weasel. His friend. And Merlin help him, but was glad of it. He thought, logically, he would have formed an attachment for almost anyone, at this point, who showed the slightest interest in him, anyone who didn't recoil in disgust whenever he came near. The fact that the person showing interest in him was a somewhat attractive young woman didn't hurt, of course.

As they walked, he let his hand swing by his side instead of keeping it in his pocket as he usually did. And then, very carefully, he let it brush Hermione's robe. "Sorry," she muttered, smiling in embarrassment, and she moved further away. Bollocks. They walked a bit further and the aching in his heart grew stronger. He wanted to be that prince again, even if it was just to one person. She didn't have to throw herself at him, or worship the ground he walked on, though at one point he'd had most of the female population of Hogwarts in just such a position. She just had to tolerate him and be with him, that's all he wanted.

The silence grew unbearable, as did the distance between them. Finally, he decided suavity and propriety could go to hell, and just grabbed her hand. A tingle shot up his arm and he heard her give a soft gasp. But she didn't shake him off, nor did she even gently let go. In fact, she curled her fingers around his own and adjusted her stride so they walked in step with one another. She was only a little shorter than he was, and they kept pace easily, walking the rest of the way to Gryffindor tower without speaking.

When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, who was snoozing within her frame, Hermione let go of his hand and they stood facing each other. "The only reason you're not kissing me again," Draco said, "is because there aren't a hundred people around, right?" The shadow of his old, wicked smile spread across his face.

She tried to stifle a laugh. "That does make things more interesting," she said.

The corridor was utterly deserted. He took a step closer to her. "Why do you smell like apples?" he murmured, his eyes flicking back and forth, studying her face. For the first time, he noticed her eyes weren't just brown; they had tiny flecks of amber and honey as well, and they simply shone.

"My... shampoo," she whispered, looking up at him.

"And... the flower scent?" He leaned in until his cheek brushed her hair and he closed his eyes, inhaling the sweetness. It was a great relief to know he could still have a certain effect on women, low though he may have fallen in most other aspects of life.

"It's, ah... my soap. Honeysuckle?"

"Is that a question, Granger?" He turned his head just so, and each word sent a breath of warm air into her ear. "Would you like me to check?" He dipped his head to breathe hotly against the side of her neck, smelling that sweetness again.

Her breaths were quick, and though he was careful not to touch her, he could almost feel her trembling. "Draco," she whispered.

He stood back, raising an eyebrow at the use of his given name. "Hermione?" he returned with very faint mocking in his tone.

"This is..." Her eyes darted back and forth between him, the portrait, the empty corridor.

"Yes?" He moved closer again, falling so very easily into this old role. If it had been ages since anyone had even touched him, it had been longer still since he had done anything beyond simple touching. The longing made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and the power he so clearly had over her made him light-headed. He touched her arm and leaned in further, but there was a click and a creak and the two of them jumped apart.

"Hermione!" Girl-Weasley's mouth and eyes were wide open as she leaned out of the portrait hole. "I was about to come find you, it's curfew in ten..." She was unable to finish her sentence as her eyes drifted once more to Draco, apparently registering his presence this time. "Malfoy?" she asked incredulously. 

"Well done, Weasel," he sneered, suppressing the small part of him that wanted to cheer about yet another person actually speaking to him.

"What are you doing here?"

"We were studying in the library," Hermione said quickly, anticipating (correctly) that Draco was about to reply with something she would find inappropriate. "I'll see you tomorrow," she told him, already slipping through the doorway. "Goodnight."

His last view of her was with Weasley's face over her shoulder, mouth agape, and Hermione's eyes just as wide. He heard the beginnings of what was sure to be another argument about him before the girls took it further into the common room, then he started back to his room.

Neither he nor Hermione made any mention of it the next night, and by the night after that, both were acting as though it had never happened. It was very clearly a mistake. Draco knew the list of people lined up to murder him--slowly and painfully--if he so much as touched Hermione was a mile long. And if he gave any hint that he had an interest in a mudblood, his Slytherin peers would despise him even more, if that was possible. It was for the best that he stayed well clear of her.

That would be difficult, however, since they still automatically met in the library every night after supper. Two days before the end of term, homework was nonexistent and all that was left was revisions for their last couple of exams. The tests were long and difficult to prepare them for their N.E.W.T.s in the Spring, but as usual, they both got through with little trouble.

All too soon for Draco, it was Friday night. The students who were going home over the holiday would be leaving in the morning, whether by apparition or train, and he was only able to get through the day by not thinking about it. Two full weeks utterly alone. He'd borne it well enough the first few months of school, but now that he had become accustomed to company, it would be torture to go without. Having no assignments due until the second week of next term, Draco sat flipping through his Charms book, chin on his fist. He heard Hermione shift again and again in her chair, but he said nothing, nor did he look up.

"I should go pack," she said abruptly, and started stacking her books and shoving them into her bag. "I haven't even begun."

Draco closed his book. "All right," he said softly, watching every movement she made. The fall of her hair over her shoulder, the way the muscles in her long fingers went taut when she picked up a heavy book. The blue of her sweater--she always wore muggle clothes outside of classes and school functions--was very pretty on her. He told himself to shut up and stop mooning like a third-year, but hers was the first kindness he'd been shown in years. Maybe the first true kindness anyone had ever shown him.

"Here." There was suddenly a box on the table in front of him, wrapped in silver paper and tied with a red ribbon, and about the size of a bludger. "Don't open it here, it's against the rules. But. Anyway."

She bit the corner of her lip in a most distracting fashion, but Draco forced himself to tear his eyes away from her and look again at the package. She had gotten him a Christmas gift? "I didn't get you anything," he mumbled.

"I know," she said cheerily. "And I'm not giving you time to feel guilty about it, either, since I leave in the morning."

"What is it?"

"If I told you, that would kind of ruin the point, don't you think?"

"Do I have to wait until Christmas morning to open it?" he asked, still frowning alternately at the box and at Hermione.

"No," she smiled. "In fact, it would be best if you opened it soon."

He had to open it soon, but not in the library? What could Head Girl Granger have possibly given him that was against the rules? Was it loud? Could it somehow do damage to the books? "It's... safe, right?" he asked, eyeing it warily.

"Of course it's safe," she said, standing up and hefting her bag's strap onto her shoulder. "I've got to go." But she didn't leave.

Draco shoved his book into his rucksack and stood as well, picking up the present. "I suppose I'll see you in January," he said.

"Next year." She nodded. They looked at each other. Hermione shifted, and for one happy instant, he thought she was going to hug him. But she stayed where she was, as did he. "Well. Happy Christmas, Draco."

"Happy Christmas," he echoed faintly. She scurried out of the library before he could say anything more, and he let her go. What was the point in prolonging goodbyes? He took his time walking back to his room, glancing now and then at the package in his hand as though it would explode at any moment. He shook it experimentally, and there was some slight shifting inside, as of several pieces of something, but that time-honoured test of Christmas gifts gave him no more answers than staring at the outside did.

Once he was settled in his room with a few candles lit, he sat at the table and untied the bow, then tore the paper off the box. It was plain brown cardboard, with a lid that hinged at one side. Within the box was red tissue paper, and beneath that.... He shook his head, caught between laughter and despair. Inside were at least a dozen gingerbread biscuits, all in the shape of dragons. He took one out and nibbled at the head, then closed his eyes as a thousand memories washed over him. It tasted exactly as he remembered, down to the tartness of the icing painted on for eyes and mouth. Dobby worked at the school now, he remembered; Hermione must have tracked him down for the recipe. He wondered if the elf had made them, or if she had made them herself.

He took another bite, but thoughts of the manor and his mother became too much. He remembered distinctly the faint smell of her perfume that clung to the notes she sent him at school, the look in her eyes when his father was raving about something or another, the coldness of her hand in his as he pulled her down to sit next to him at the end of the battle in the Great Hall last spring. Draco set the biscuit back in the box and closed the lid, then lay down on the bed, curled on his side. Ginger burned on his tongue. For the first time since his mother had died, Draco allowed the tears to come.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Draco,

My mother is already starting to drive me insane, and I still have 11 days left here. Tomorrow two sets of aunts and uncles as well as seven cousins and two grandmothers will be here for Christmas. I'll really have to get away for a while, and I was wondering if you wanted to meet in Hogsmeade at one o'clock in the afternoon. I'll understand if you have plans for Christmas day, of course, but I'd be ever so grateful to get out of the madhouse and see a friend for a bit. Please send a reply with my owl and let me know. Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow.

-Hermione

Phrasing it in a way that made it seem he would be doing her a favour, Hermione thought, sounded infinitely better than "I feel sorry for you that you're alone on Christmas and want to see you to make sure you're all right." And she'd waited a full two days since leaving Hogwarts to send it, so it wouldn't appear as though she'd been planning to do so for a week. She'd started the letter several times, beginning with "Malfoy," but that seemed so impersonal. "Dear Draco," however, seemed rather forward, but "Draco Malfoy:" and "Mr. Malfoy:" were worse. Settling on just "Draco" was the best she could do; of course it seemed only fair that she close with her own first name.

After nearly three-quarters of an hour spent alone in her room with quill and parchment, Hermione finally made herself stop fussing with the letter, spelled away the last of the erasures and blots, and sent it along with an owl she'd brought from the school. His reply came late that night. He had pressed the quill into the parchment quite firmly as he wrote, and there was a splotch at the end of his name when he signed it, but his answer was yes, and Hermione smiled at the thought of seeing him the next day.

Not that she was overly excited or anything. He was a friend. Sometimes it seemed he was her only friend, with the way Ron had shunned her the last few weeks, and Ginny's odd distance from her ever since she found Hermione and Draco in the corridor outside the Gryffindor common room. Even Neville seemed uneasy around her. And while she loved her parents dearly, she just couldn't talk to them like she could talk to Draco. She and Draco were from the same world, they understood the same things. They could discuss Arithmancy and the uses of wormwood, how to capture a grindylow and the best time to plant lavender if you wanted it to be particularly effective in a sleeping potion. And Draco, more than anyone, understood what it was like to be alone.

With all the chaos in her parents' house, it wasn't difficult to tell her slightly frazzled mother that she had promised to meet a friend for a few hours and would be back for supper. She and Hermione's father still thought she meant that charming tall Ron Weasley they'd seen pictures of, and she didn't disabuse them of the idea; it was easier that way. Apparating from her back yard to the end of the high street in Hogsmeade, Hermione hardly noticed a difference in the weather, except that after a moment she felt it was somewhat colder in Scotland. Two minutes' walk brought her to the edge of the field that overlooked the Shrieking Shack, and there was Draco, perched on the large rock near the fence.

"Happy Christmas," she said, once she had crunched through the snow to stand at his side.

"Happy Christmas," he returned, sliding down to stand as well. "Here." He had a box in one hand, wrapped in glittery blue paper, and held it out to her.

"Draco," Hermione said, her tone shocked and somewhat reproachful.

"No," he said before she could go any further. "Don't say, 'oh you shouldn't have' because I should have. It's only common courtesy to give a Christmas gift to a person who has given you one."

"But those were just biscuits, I didn't even--"

"They were wonderful," he said softly, and she fell silent at the timbre of his voice. "Thank you. Now are you going to take this," he asked, thrusting the box in his hand at her once more, "or shall I take it back to the shop?"

Silently, Hermione took the box from him and carefully removed the wrapping paper, taking off her gloves so she could slide her finger beneath the tape at the bottom, then pull the paper off all together.

"Please tell me you're not going to fold that up and save it," Draco drawled, crossing his arms.

She blushed and looked at the ground. "Um." 

Rolling his eyes, Draco took out his wand and vanished it, leaving her holding a long, thin white box. She slipped the lid off to reveal white leather gloves lined with what looked like rabbit fur. A design had been tooled around the cuffs, intricate gold knots that circled back on themselves. "Oh," she whispered, wide-eyed. "Thank you. They're so pretty."

"Faun-made," he said casually. "The shop that bought them put an everlasting warming charm on them."

"Thank you," Hermione said again, looking up at him. "Just..."

His expression fell. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I just.... don't usually wear the pelt of a dead animal for my own warmth, and--"

"Look at it this way, Granger," he said, a slight snap to his tone. "The rabbit was already dead long before I even thought about buying the gloves for you, so why worry about it?"

"Well, yes," she said grudgingly, "but since you bought this pair, the shop is down one pair, and they'll order another to replace it, and the fauns--"

He held up one hand, cutting her off. "Just put them on and be grateful. Can you manage that?"

He looked so fantastically annoyed and earnest that Hermione just nodded. She set the box down on the large rock and pulled the gloves on, sighing at the softness and warmth that immediately enveloped her hands. As he had done with the wrapping paper, Draco vanished the now-empty box as well. "You're filling up the anti-space with trash," Hermione said with a frown.

"What?"

"Anti-space. The place where objects that have been vanished go."

"I know what it is. Besides." Draco shrugged and put his hands in his trouser pockets. "That's what it's there for."

Rather than argue with him further--it was Christmas, after all--Hermione started walking toward the village.

"Where are we going?" Draco asked, falling into step beside her.

"I thought we might get a butterbeer in town."

"Do you think anywhere will be open?"

She looked at him, puzzled. "I didn't think wizards celebrated Christmas."

"Have you seen Hogwarts?" Draco asked.

"Well, I thought that was just... being festive. Wizards and witches really close down the shops and things Christmas day?"

"My father used to call it mugglefication," Draco said. "Wizards and witches who are more... forward-thinking, pro-muggle types, observe a lot of the same holidays muggles do. I suppose it's showing support or something."

"But not all of them do?" Hermione couldn't believe she'd lived in the wizarding world this long and not encountered such an idea before. Then again, she'd never been in a totally wizarding village on a muggle holiday before, either.

"Most of the older, pureblooded witches and wizards don't," Draco explained, a hint of his old haughtiness in his voice. "They don't see the point. It's mixing with the riff-raff."

Hermione bit her lip as they walked. "Is that what I am?" she asked softly. "Since I'm muggle-born?"

Draco was silent for a moment before answering. "Some might think so," he said.

"Do you think so?"

He sighed. "I think blood doesn't matter nearly as much as I thought it used to," he said quietly.

The Three Broomsticks was closed, as was the Hog's Head. So was Hermione's favourite bookshop, the quidditch store, and two of the three robe shops. The only place they could find that sold hot beverages and was open turned out to be the revoltingly cute Madam Puddifoot's. Draco surprised her a little by holding the door for her, but then Hermione thought that with his breeding, it was only to be expected. They were the only customers at the moment, it seemed.

"Two butterbeers, please," Hermione said to the plump, floral robe-clad woman behind the counter. 

"Oh, we don't serve that here, deary," the woman told her.

"Er. Hot cocoa, then?"

"I'd rather have tea," Draco said.

"One of each?" the woman asked, and Hermione nodded.

Draco shifted foot to foot, looking around warily. Every horizontal surface was covered in doilies. There were heart-shaped pictures on the walls, and pink was everywhere. All in all, it looked like Valentine's day had thrown up all over the shop. "Ma'am?" Hermione called. "Could we get those to go, please?" She nodded and smiled, and went back to boiling water and getting things down from shelves.

"Thank you," Draco said with a small sigh of relief, and Hermione smiled.

"There you are, loves." The woman placed two dainty glass mugs printed with snowflakes on the counter for them.

"These... are your to-go cups?" Hermione asked, eyeing them.

"Oh, they'll come on back to me when you're through with them." The lady's eyes twinkled. She told them their total, and Hermione and Draco both reached into their pockets.

"No, Granger," he said, pulling out a handful of sickles. 

"Yes, Malfoy," she insisted, dumping the contents of her change purse into one hand to reveal a mix of muggle and wizarding money. 

"Ahh," said the woman behind the counter. "This is one of those dates that's not a date, hm?" She winked at Draco.

"It's not a date," he growled, counting sickles.

"Sure it's not, love." She took Draco's money, but refused Hermione's. "You hang onto this one, dearie," she smiled. Hermione just gave her a rather forced smile and grabbed her mug of cocoa. Draco took his tea and followed her outside.

"Gods," he muttered.

"Um, yeah. I know, right?" She was blushing bright pink, and kept her head down so her hair would hide the worst of it.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Wandering back down the high street, the pair ended up yet again at the field overlooking the Shrieking Shack, and settled side-by-side on the big rock. Hermione cast a cushioning charm over the end of it to make it more comfortable, and they sat sipping in companionable silence for a little while.

I'm so glad you're here, Draco wanted to say, but he wouldn't allow himself to. He'd only gone three days without seeing her, but in those three days he hadn't seen a single other person besides the one time he ran into Madam Pince in the library. There were very few students staying at Hogwarts over the holiday, and even fewer professors than usual. The everlasting candles inside the suits of armor didn't seem to burn as brightly as they had in previous Christmas seasons, and even the snow had lost its sparkle. 

With Hermione by his side now, though, the world seemed real again, instead of the dull shadow it had been. Draco knew he was mooning again, and thinking irrationally. "How is your family?" he asked suddenly, determined to stop thinking such stupid thoughts.

"Sort of insane, as usual," she replied. She halfway wanted to take off her new gloves to feel the warmth of the cocoa through the mug, but she didn't want Draco to think she didn't like them. Then she thought the better of it anyway and removed them in case she spilled her drink; it wouldn't do to ruin such a lovely gift so soon after receiving it.

"Insane... how?" he asked.

"Oh, just... loud and silly. Talking over the top of one another, that sort of thing."

"I've seen your parents in Diagon Alley before," Draco said, frowning. "School shopping with you. I've never seen a quieter pair of muggles."

"They're just like that in the wizarding world," she shrugged. "They're not familiar with it, and they have to sort of rely on me to get them through. They don't.... like it much."

"That must be difficult for you." Hermione looked over at him, puzzled. "Seeing as you're a part of it, I mean. And if they don't like it--"

"It's not that they don't like it, really," she interrupted, he thought a little too quickly. "They just don't feel... comfortable."

Draco just nodded, and finished his tea. When he set the mug down on the rock beside him, it trembled for a moment, then sprouted little sparkling white wings and flew off toward the village. Hermione watched it, smiling. "Stupid," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Stupidly cute," Hermione said with a little giggle. She finished her own drink and watched it fly away not far behind its fellow. With a sigh, she turned back around, gazing out over the valley.

"I suppose you should get going," Draco said after a moment.

Hermione pushed up her coat sleeve and looked at her watch. "Fairly soon," she said, but didn't move.

"What will you do when you get home?" asked Draco after another minute.

"Everyone will probably be there by that time," she told him. "So I'll get passed round for hugs, and my aunts will say something like.... my sweater's pretty, but good heavens, dear, you still can't you do anything with that hair?" Her voice turned nasal and mocking in imitation, but she was smiling. "And my uncles will ask where my boyfriend is, and I'll avoid the question--"

"Your boyfriend?" Draco asked, suddenly sitting up a little straighter.

"They all still think I'm with Ronald, thanks to my mother blabbing about it on the phone to her sisters. Though I haven't seen most of them for months and months, so they wouldn't know any better."

"So... you're not, then?" A tiny flutter seized his heart at the thought, though he brushed it away the next second.

"No," Hermione said, looking at the ground below. "I told you already. Anyway. Um. I'm the eldest of all my cousins, so I'll sort of supervise them while Mum and my aunts get dinner finished, and my dad and uncles will watch television and talk about work. Sarah's the second eldest, she's twelve, so she'll help. She gets a bit bossy sometimes, but she's the big sister to three others, so it's ingrained, I suppose."

"It sounds like you have a big family." The flutter was gone, but in its place was a twisting, a wrenching of his heart, very faint.

"Sort of, yes," she smiled. "And ours is the biggest house, next to Grandma Granger's, but she's not doing so well lately, so everyone comes to our house now."

"It all sounds rather... noisy and obnoxious," he said, curling his lip, but his heart wasn't in it. It sounded a little bit wonderful, actually, to be surrounded by people who loved you no matter what, even if they teased you about your hair or your boyfriend, even if there were screaming children and muggle television shows. To be surrounded by family....

Hermione broke into his thoughts. "You... could come back with me, if you'd like," she offered gently. "For the day. We have more than enough food, we always do, and we could make room."

Something washed over him, then. From the kindness in her voice and the casual way she offered to invite him into her home, her life. Draco's heart strained against his conscience for several seconds. "No," he said finally, a little breathless. "Thank you very much, but... I don't think so."

"Are you sure?" she asked, her eyes full of nothing but concern and maybe... a little disappointment.

"Yes," Draco said more firmly. "It's fine." He didn't know these people, and they didn't know him. What reason had they to be pleasant to him? And he would have to hide his true identity, anyway, amongst the muggles. No, he would do best to stay where he was, alone. "You should go," he said, sliding off the rock to stand. "Get back to your family."

Hermione took her time putting her gloves back on, then slipping down onto the ground. She bit her lip beautifully, then suddenly looked up at him. Draco was almost shocked into taking a step backwards from the look in her eyes. "I don't want to go," she whispered. "Not... I don't want to leave you. Here, I mean, by yourself."

"I'll be fine," he shrugged. "It isn't as though I'm not used to it."

"Draco." She looked up into his eyes, and he couldn't look away; he was drowning, that's what it felt like. Being sucked under the surface and surrounded on all sides with Hermione. He didn't realize he was leaning toward her until he suddenly noticed her lips were only inches away. Buggering hell, what the fuck was he doing? He tried to pull away, but he was frozen. And the next thing he knew, she had leaned up to meet him, pressing her warm, sweet lips against his own. A moment later he realized he was actually kissing her, that he had his arms around her and he could feel her hair brushing his cheek and her hands on his back. Carefully, slowly, he opened his mouth a fraction, and felt her respond. His tongue darted to taste her lower lip and she shivered in his arms.

She pulled back, but not far, and looked up at him, seeming utterly bewildered. "What's the matter, Granger?" He tilted his head to one side, knowing how it made his hair fall across his forehead and his eyes seemingly brighten. "You look like you've never been kissed before." He gave a small, teasing smile.

"Not.... like that," she whispered.

Well, of course not. The boys she'd spent time with before were nothing compared to a Malfoy. His spine straightened and he held her tighter. "Like this?" he asked, and bent to kiss her again before she could answer. Several seconds more passed before she turned her head away, a strangled sound torn from her throat. "What's the matter?"

She was shaking, and her eyes had filled with tears. "I don't know," she whispered.

"Am I that repulsive to you?" He raised one eyebrow. "Do you find me so unattractive?" She shook her head. "Well you're not half-bad to look at either," he smirked. "So...." He lowered his head once more--he never wanted to stop kissing her--but she turned her face away. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, letting her go. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," she said again, unable to look quite at him. "I just... this is unexpected, and I...."

"Unexpected?" Draco asked, a mirthless laugh escaping his lips. "Hermione, you're the only person who's even spoken to me for months! We spend all our free time together, I can...." He shook his head, unable to explain. "And then you leave me for your wonderful, perfect family, and I've been out of my bloody mind since then and it's only been three days!" Draco clenched his fists, unable to move even to pace restlessly. "No one else gives a damn about me. No one else will even look at me. But you... you are, quite literally, the only girl in the world for me." Fucking hell, had he really just said that? He clamped his jaw tight closed, searching her face for a reaction.

"So... you only like me by... default?" she asked quietly, looking up at him with hurt in her eyes.

"No! No, that's not it at all!"

"Any other person in the world who paid attention to you, you'd feel the same about them right now?"

"That's not what I said!" He raised his fists; he wanted to hit something! But then he dropped his arms to his side. "Fuck!" he said angrily. "You're you, no one else is! I don't know... what I'm trying to say. It couldn't be anyone else because.... I love you, all right? " And at once all the anger drained out of him to be replaced with horror and shock. What was the matter with him today?

"You...." She froze, looking up at his face. "What?"

Draco grit his teeth, looking anywhere but at her. "You heard me," he muttered. "And don't act like you're surprised, either, you know you're head-over-heels for me too, Granger." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers, but was knocked backward a step when she suddenly flung her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his. He caught his balance at the last second and embraced her as well, though he felt like he actually had been knocked off his feet. Was it possible? Had he just said all those things... and she was still here with him?

"Draco," she whispered, laying her head on his shoulder. "I...."

He glanced down, then looked again. Dear gods. "You're not crying, are you?" he asked suspiciously.

"No." She sniffed loudly, giving away the lie.

"Why are you crying?"

"I'm not!" Another sniff. "Because... I'm happy."

She was crying... because she was happy? Draco rolled his eyes. Women. "I can think of a lot of other things I'd rather have you do than cry. Namely this," he said, and made her look up at him with one hand on her wet cheek. 

They kissed for hours, or so it seemed, standing there in the snow at the edge of the village. Their cheeks were cold but their mouths were warm and eager. Draco had never felt anything so absolutely wonderful in his life. It wasn't that she was a particularly good kisser--he'd had several others far better skilled in the art--and it wasn't even that she was drop-dead gorgeous, though she was quite pretty. It was that... she was Hermione, and she couldn't be more perfect.

Finally their mouths broke apart and she rested her cheek against the side of his face. "I really have to go," she murmured, her lips brushing his jaw and making him shiver.

"No."

"I do." She kissed there, making him shiver again, and Draco could practically hear the wheels in her head turning, tucking that information away for later. "Come with me."

"I can't."

"You can. My family would love to have you, they'd like you, I know they would. You can be charming when you're not being such an arse."

He laughed and held her closer. "Thanks."

"I mean it. Come with me."

"They'll find out I'm not Ronald Weasley," he sneered. "What will you tell them?"

"That it didn't work out, and I'm with you now."

Well that was disconcertingly straightforward of her. The Gryffindor. Merlin, that look in her eyes, her flushed cheeks and swollen lips. He already knew he was going to give in. He would have to hide that he was a wizard, yes, but none of Hermione's family would know anything about him. He wouldn't be the pureblooded son of a Death Eater. He wouldn't be the fallen King of Slytherin. The name Malfoy would mean nothing to them; they would be ignorant of the weight that name carried in the wizarding world. He could be free of that weight for a few hours. "They're muggles," he said, though without much heat.

"Scum," said Hermione casually.

"Not scum," he chided. "I.... There will be small children." She nodded against his shoulder. "And... television." She nodded again. "What will I tell them about my parents? They're bound to ask."

"Over the years," Hermione said, "I've noticed something about you."

"Oh?"

"You're very good at lying. I'm sure you can come up with something."

He could hear the smile in her voice, and his own matched it. "Why, thank you."

"Come home with me," she whispered. "You know you can't stand to be without me."

"Hmmf." He was still, looking out across the snow and trees. Then she kissed that spot just beneath his jaw once more and he melted. "Fine, fine," he muttered. "Wicked thing. But I'm not staying long."

"We'll see," she smiled, standing back and taking his hand.

"We'll see?" Draco asked, raising his eyebrows.

Hermione just grinned and leaned forward to kiss him once more. "They'll like you," she said. "They'll like you because I do." She wrapped her arms around her. "Because I love you," she whispered, and apparated them home.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fluff! I also have a smutty epilogue to this story called Shared Sunshine, if you're into that sort of thing. :)


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